


No One Will Be Watching Us

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: M/M, Road Head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-02
Updated: 2007-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For zoemargaret in a DYW fic exchange. Beta by decor_noctis.</p>
    </blockquote>





	No One Will Be Watching Us

**Author's Note:**

> For zoemargaret in a DYW fic exchange. Beta by decor_noctis.

Sometimes it seemed like there were patterns to it. The first album just sort of fell together in Nick's bedroom and Tyson's grandmother's cabin, way back when. The second album took what seemed like forever to fucking write and take into the studio. The third album, that had pretty much come together as soon as they got to the mountains. And now the fourth, and almost everything that _could_ go wrong _had_ gone wrong. Maybe cabins were the key. Tyson made a mental note to look for another one for next time.

He and Nick had finally, fucking _finally_, got to LA and now the producer had pushed the studio start date back another week due to a family crisis. "Isn't this the third 'family crisis' in a row?" Nick asked, when Tyson put the phone down.

He just sighed, in answer. Mike and Chris were still in Oklahoma; he'd have to call them.

"We should have just asked Patrick to do it," Nick slumped. "This guy is –"

"He'll _be_ o_kay_, alright?" Tyson snapped. The phone seemed heavy, which was ridiculous.

"Hey, hey, hey." Nick's hands were warm on his shoulders, and his eyes when Tyson looked up were soft. "It's okay, Ty. Come on, we got a week. Why don't we do something – drive down to Vegas, go to some clubs, have a good time." He moved closer, taking the phone out of Tyson's hands. "Big, soft, springy bed," he murmured, leaning in to kiss the skin just under Tyson's earlobe.

Tyson exhaled. "Alright."

Nick inched his mouth up over Tyson's jaw. "I'll book it."

"Okay," Tyson breathed, tilting and coaxing until he caught Nick's mouth with his.

The car Nick hired turned out to be a sleek black soft top, and even the seats and the dashboard were black. Tyson stood and sort of stared at it for a minute.

"Oh god, I love you," he said, almost reverent.

"You talking to me or the car?" Nick was grinning the sort of grin Tyson found impossibly cute.

"You, you dumbass." Nick threw him the keys and he caught them one-handed, then almost immediately lost his grip and dropped them. "Shit. But you knew," he continued as he bent to pick them up, "I would – hey." As he straightened up, he felt Nick behind him. He wriggled a little against him, and twisted his neck to say, "Hi."

"Hey." Nick was smiling, and Tyson turned around so he could kiss him quickly. He hoped none of the other apartment-block residents would need their cars right then. (The underground parking lot was the only privacy they _had_ outside of the apartment itself.)

"Come on." Tyson jangled the keys in his hand. "Let's get rollin'."

The car may have been sleek and sexy and all that great stuff, but when they'd cleared the smog and the suburbs of LA and gone a ways down the freeway, it occurred to Tyson that driving through the desert in an all-black car would require sunscreen. Luckily, Nick had brought some, and when they stopped in San Diego for smoothies (there was this great little place Mike had discovered once, near where they'd played) Tyson slathered some onto his arms. Nick had his cowboy hat on, over sunglasses and a nose that looked entirely white from the sunscreen he'd piled onto it. Tyson laughed.

"You look ridiculous," he said, reaching over to tip Nick's hat for him.

"I look like I won't get _burned_," was Nick's answer. "Peeling is so not sexy, Ty."

"Hey, I could work it." Tyson checked in the mirror, but before he could say anything else Nick was attacking him with a solid block of sunscreen, covering his nose. "_Nick_!" Tyson yelped, fighting him off. "What the fuck, dude?"

"Peeling," Nick said, sitting back to examine his handiwork. "Not sexy. You'll thank me later."

"Sure I will." Tyson got the engine going again. "Drink your raspberries and passion fruit, jerkoff."

"Bitch." Nick settled back in his seat, sipping his smoothie. Tyson tried hard not to watch the way Nick's lips closed over the straw as he sucked. It was very distracting, suddenly; the more Tyson tried to watch the road, the louder the sucking sounds seemed to get, and the more his eyes slid over. In the end, he just groped for the cup holder and started on his own smoothie, hoping the taste would distract him. It did; the strawberry and banana blend hit his taste buds in what seemed like an explosion, yanking his senses away from Nick's mouth sucking at a phallic object. Or, almost away.

"You wanna nap?" Tyson asked when they hit the desert and Nick yawned.

"Nah. It's just the sun, makin' me kinda sleepy." Nick was slumping lower in his seat. "Put some music on, or something, okay?"

"Hey, you're the one not driving, _you_ put some music on. What'd you bring?"

Nick twisted around to fumble in the back seat for his CD wallet. "The usual." He sat back, unzipping it, and flipped through. "Hey, you wanna hear New Jersey?"

"Sure," Tyson nodded. The road ahead of them was pretty clear now. And long. The music should counteract the sun and force him to stay awake.

Nick fiddled with the car's CD player, and after a minute the drum beat started to fade in. Nick adjusted the volume and sat back.

It was as Jon Bon Jovi's voice sang, "They say what you get is always what you need, if you want me to lay my hands on you," that Tyson remembered that one afternoon when he was seventeen and lying curled up with Nick listening to Bon Jovi and making out, and Nick had moaned when this song came on and said he'd been jerking off to it since he was fifteen and most of that time he'd been thinking about Tyson, and right now Nick was singing along in between sips of his smoothie and Tyson was very, very hard. He didn't remember getting there, but he was definitely hard now. Stiff. Sporting a woody. Tenting the jeans. Walking out with a coat hanger. Hard as all fuck, in essence, and Nick was sitting _right there beside him_ and that really wasn't helping.

Nick leaned his neck back and sang softly along with the next song and Tyson thought about how completely unfair it was that the words "just like bad medicine" were a very sexy shape for Nick's mouth to make. It really was. Very unfair.

He was starting to think in half-sentences and snatches of memory – the day they'd had in that cabin writing Mona Lisa and the way Nick had moaned, pressed up against the kitchen counter as Tyson blew him; Nick fucking him bent over the night after the Rock Honors thing; the first time Nick ever jerked him off, movements unsure and broken by sloppy kisses and that discordant note when Nick's foot had caught the guitar as they'd tipped backwards right before Tyson came; christening the bathroom when they moved to Florida, Tyson fucking Nick against the wall, the shower on behind them but they hadn't even made it that far – and this was not, in any way, conducive to concentrating on driving.

He tried, though. He really really tried. There was music, there was desert, the car's top was down (all things topless are good things) and there was Nick. Who had stopped singing, but had started instead saying Tyson's name.

"Ty. Ty. You with me? _Ty_."

"Sorry. Just uh, trying to concentrate on the road."

"Right. How's that going?" Beneath the glasses, Tyson knew Nick was eyeing him warily.

"Um." The last track started up on the CD, and the line _I felt like this dog who'd been kicked in the head_ seemed to stick, for a minute, to Tyson's temples. He shook it off. "It's okay."

"You sure? If you're sleepy, you could nap, I can drive."

"No it's – I'm not sleepy."

"Then what?" Nick was turned towards him now, and unless the heat was making him crazy, affection rolled off Nick like warmth.

Tyson shifted. "Uh." He glanced down at his lap, then over at Nick, then at his lap again, and back to Nick. Nick blinked, and his eyes travelled down.

"Oh." The corners of Nick's mouth quirked up. "Well, y'know, I can do something about that when we get to the hotel."

"You could do something about that _now_, if you wanted," Tyson said. "Help me regain my focus."

"You gonna pull over?"

The road was pretty clear, so he _could_, but. But. "You know, I've always wanted to try something." He glanced over.

Nick just looked back at him. "You want me to blow you while you're driving?" he asked, incredulous. "Isn't that kinda _dangerous_?"

Tyson waved a hand. "I guess, okay, yeah. Probably. But that's the _thrill_ of it, right, that I have to concentrate on driving, I can't let it – like. It's how long I'll last, it's –" Fuck, he was squirming. "Please, Nick?"

Nick eyed him. Tyson squirmed some more, because fuck, it was all he could think about now. "I don't know," Nick said, in that voice that meant he'd be persuaded any second now.

"_Please_," Tyson repeated, surprised when his voice cracked a little, but _fuck_ he wanted this so bad.

"Okay, shit." Nick unbuckled his seatbelt and moved and slid around until his head was level with Tyson's waist, under the steering wheel. "If we crash and die, I will never forgive you."

Tyson just swallowed and fixed his eyes on the road. It was a little like walking a tightrope, as he felt Nick unzipping his jeans and sliding them down past his thighs to his knees – he mustn't look down. If he looked – Nick's mouth slid suddenly over his cock and he almost jerked in his seat at the contact, fuck, warm and _wet_ and fuck – he wouldn't be able to look up again, and then they really would crash and die, and Tyson was fond of living. So he watched the road.

Nick lapped at the sides of his cock, flicked his tongue out at the head between sucks, because Nick was fucking talented at this. Tyson tried to keep his hips flat against the seat, but as Nick gave one particularly hard suck Tyson couldn't help moaning and arching up a bit; Nick moved upwards to compensate and bashed his head against the steering wheel. "Fmmn, owww," he said. The sound was muffled. The vibrations went right through Tyson and he squeezed his eyes tight shut for a half a second. When he opened them again, he thought, _road road road watch the fucking road road road oh shit road oh fucking shit road road Nick's fucking mouth road road I really have to try and write more talk box into songs fuck road road watch the fucking road don't crash road road oh holy shit fuck fuck Nick._

He felt a pooling of something white-hot at the base of his spine and opened his mouth to try and warn Nick, to say _something_, but his orgasm hit as he started to speak so it came out more "FlllllaaaaahhhhNickfuckfuckfuuuuuck" than "Fuck, Nick, I'm gonna –" His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, and he didn't even realise he'd closed his eyes until they were open again and he realised the car was drifting almost off the road. He span the wheel and got them back into the right lane.

Nick sat up, swallowing. "Did you," he said, once his mouth was no longer full, "just almost crash, Ty?"

"Um. Kinda," Tyson admitted. Nick leaned over to zip his pants back up, and flicked him in the stomach.

"Do not ask me to do that again, because next time the answer will be _no_," was all Nick said. "Pull over, okay? You're gonna get sleepy, I'll drive."

"Alright." Tyson indicated, trying to shake off a feeling like he was a puppy who had just been told he shouldn't steal the cookies out of the jar. They switched seats, Nick sliding into the driver's seat and changing the CD. "Nick?" Tyson murmured, already feeling like a nap was creeping up on him. "'m sorry."

"'S okay, Ty." Nick kissed him, a soft brief press of lips, before turning the ignition key. "Just don't almost kill us again, alright?"

"Didn't mean to," Tyson muttered through a yawn. "We're okay."

"I know." Nick patted his knee. "Go to sleep, Ty. I'll wake you when we get there." He turned the volume down on the CD player as David Bowie sang of silicone humps and ten-inch stumps, and Tyson closed his eyes.

The hotel was on the Strip, and therefore also a casino. They had a pretty big room; no bowling alley or jacuzzi, though the bathroom had both a shower stall and an enormous round bath, in opposite corners. Tyson dropped his bags near the dresser and turned around when he felt Nick's hands on his hips.

Nick leaned in and kissed him, inching his fingers under Tyson's shirt. "Now I get to pay you back for almost killing us," he murmured, moving his mouth over Tyson's jaw as he said it. He nuzzled.

Tyson automatically sank to his knees, shuffling Nick back against the wall. "Sounds good to me," he breathed, unzipping Nick's pants quickly.

"That – uh, wasn't what I was thinking of, but okay. You could blow me first." Nick smiled down at him, petting his hair. "I'll never say no to _that_." He paused. "Unless it's me driving. Then no," he said, elongating the _o_.

"I get the picture." Tyson just about stopped himself rolling his eyes. "Come on. We're both fine, nobody crashed. I won't ask you to do it again, okay? Let me make it up to you." He nuzzled Nick's cock with his cheek. It was mostly hard, and hardened more at the contact.

Nick stroked fingertips through Tyson's hair. "I just," he said, more a sigh than anything.

"I know. You were worried, right? But hey. We're fine. So." He nuzzled some more, this time with his jaw. Nick squirmed against the wall.

"Yeah," he exhaled, tipping his head back. _Fuck, that's hot_, Tyson observed, sliding his mouth over the head of Nick's cock and watching him swallow and breathe out in the tiniest of moans. Tyson licked, sucked, lapped, all the while watching. He liked the view up the length of Nick's body; his shirt was rumpled, his arms were flexing as he twisted his fingers in Tyson's hair, his eyes were closed and his mouth was open, shaping around small sounds and silent exhalations. Tyson stroked palms over Nick's thighs, and they jerked under his hands. "Fuck," Nick breathed, voice high and stuttering. "_Fuck_."

Tyson sucked harder and hummed, at just the moment and just the volume that drove Nick the craziest. Nick let go a little _ahhh_ sound and arched his neck.

"Ty, I'm – Ty, fuck." Nick was shaking, his hands were shaking, and Tyson pressed his tongue to that perfect spot on Nick's cock, the one that made him whimper when Tyson jerked him off, and Nick came with a shudder, whimpering and groaning, "Fuck, Ty, fucking, _Tyson_, fuck."

Tyson leaned back and stood up in one fluid motion. He splayed a hand on Nick's hip and leaned in to kiss him, murmuring, "You are the hottest fucking thing in this universe."

"Bed, we gotta." Nick's breath hadn't returned to normal. Tyson just took his hand and led him over to the bed – which was, as Nick had promised, big and soft and springy.

"Mmm, plenty of give," Tyson grinned, bouncing one knee up and down on it before sliding on, horizontal already, pulling Nick with him. Nick settled against his chest.

"Keep me awake," he muttered, one hand bunching in Tyson's shirt. "I got plans."

"Oh? And what do these plans involve, young Nickolas?"

"Shhh." Nick brought a hand to his mouth, one finger in front of it. His eyes were mostly closed, and he was curled up, and on the whole Tyson thought that he would beat a basket full of kittens in the cuteness stakes right about now. "It's a secret. You'll see."

"How'm I meant to keep you awake?" Tyson murmured, trying to keep his smile out of the sound, but it seemed to want to spill out in every way possible. "Post-orgasm naps are a biological necessity, Nick. It takes chicks a half hour, but for dudes like us, five minutes after shooting our load we're dead to the world. Trying to fight it off is like fighting _nature_. Do you want to fight nature, Nick? Do you? Do you _really_?"

Nick didn't answer. He just shuffled closer and tried to mumble something, but it could have been anything from "Nature can suck my dick" to "I'll be like an hour, amuse yourself", so Tyson instead read the patterns the whorls on Nick's fingertips were making as he adjusted his hands sleepily, the slant of Nick's eyebrows, the movement of his nose (sunscreen sliding off now, onto Tyson's shirt), the shape of his mouth, the angle of his cheek, and pieced together _I'll be back soon, okay?_

"Okay," Tyson replied, kissing his hair. He watched Nick's breathing even out and his muscles slacken, thinking about the times they'd fought nature, and the times when they hadn't gotten sleepy at all, as if nature hadn't even noticed they'd come. He thought about Tokyo, that time they'd had sex seven times in one night without even stopping for naps, just making out and touching all over in between. He thought about that time in Australia, the heat making his head spin, when they'd just carried on drinking after the blowjobs and either that or the jetlag had somehow kept them up until four. He thought about the days in the van, when it was just the two of them and they had to get to a bar in time to set up, so they'd just kept each other awake all night as best they could and took turns driving. He thought about when they'd driven up to New York, stopping sometimes just so they could fuck in the back. That time he'd cracked his head against the door of Nick's car as they fooled around in the back seat. The way Nick had all but screamed one night in Destin when Tyson fucked him so hard he could barely think, and they'd had to pretend to the neighbours they'd been watching TV. The hasty handjobs that had turned into a sixty-nine the night after they watched Unplugged.

Nick shifted, nuzzling closer, and the words _You're thinking way too loud_ rolled off his body.

Tyson put his mouth to Nick's hair, breathing in the smell of sweat and shampoo and the underlying scent of Nickolas Don Wheeler, kissed him, and whispered, "Dream about it."

The air around Nick's body seemed to smile for a second, and Nick slept on, Tyson watching him and thinking, _I love you, we need to make more memories when you wake up. I love you._


End file.
